


the wendy bird

by kathleenfergie



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Neverland, Young Emma, and a lot of them are one sided, every relationship is really only a slight tag, so like take all the tags lightly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 21:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6536935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathleenfergie/pseuds/kathleenfergie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pan steals you out of your foster bed at seventeen and drops you unceremoniously in the middle of the damp jungle. <br/>“What am I doing here?” You ask, terrified.<br/>“You’re here for them, Wendy Darling,” he smiles, looking back at the Lost Boys.<br/>"My name is <i>Emma</i>."<br/>“It used to be,” he clarifies, eyes narrowing. </p>
<p>(lost girl emma au)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the wendy bird

**Author's Note:**

> okay. i've been writing this damn thing for so long that i'm glad to be done with it. comes in all my usual flavours: choppy, second person pov, focused on emma. 
> 
> but basically i took the idea that all the roles in the peter pan story were sort of a magical part of neverland itself, and that they were just slots that anyone could fill. so when malcolm came to the island and the shadow gave him powers, he wasn't necessarily the first pan, he just became the successor to the spirit. same with wendy, hook, and tink. 
> 
> emma in this story is the wendy of the island and this oneshot follows her life on the island from beginning to end. 
> 
> it's really weird and fantasy like and different but i enjoy it. don't take it too seriously. 
> 
> don't own shit. i'm probably going to write a mermaid emma fic next.

The first Pan, Malcolm, steals you out of your foster bed at seventeen, patchwork quilt clutched in a vice grip as he pulled you through the stars. You can't remember taking his hand and he clamps his fingers down on yours. Don't you _dare_ let go, they whispered.

He drops you unceremoniously in the middle of the damp jungle, dirt smearing across your knees and forearms. They sting, but not as much as your nose or eyes, both overstimulated and pulsing.

The air is too thick, smells too sweet, and it is so hot your eyelids glue themselves shut, sweat dripping off. Pan whoops and calls out into the wild, thunderous feet following.

"Behold! The Wendy Bird!" He shouts and you know that name, from worn books in your social worker's office, your bookmarks all firmly in place for the next time you came back. "I found the Mother, my boys!"

You struggle for a glance at him, hands palming the stained quilt for some form of strength.

He's terrifying, floating feet above the ground and dancing on the fire. The troupe collapses into giggles, yelling at the older boy as others sing along with his pipe. You hate him instantly, pushing off of your knees and righting yourself as much as humanly possible. Your chest hurts, so do your knees, and for once you ache for that foster home bed.

Light comes only from the monstrous fire and small faerie lights in the hollows of trees, but beyond that there is the dark and you wonder if you'll ever see the sun again. You want its burn more than that of the fire.

Pan notices your stupor and leaves the festivities, coming back to the ground and prancing up to you in what you think is supposed to be a charming way.

"Mother, come dance," he commands and you have no response but the furrow of your brow.

"What am I doing here?" You ask after he frowns, outstretching a hand.

"You're here for _them_ , Wendy Darling," he smiles wide then, large front teeth touching his fat bottom lip. "These are your boys now, Mother."

"My name is _Emma_."

"It used to be," he clarifies, eyes darkening slightly.

* * *

Eventually you become Mother, your blonde hair pulled into a braid that grows in length as the nights pass. You wear a kerchief and apron over your leathers, looking mismatched always. Pan calls you Wendy Bird or Wendy, Darling; the pause is always obvious, Pan's lilted voice stopped briefly to narrow his eyes. He tells the lost ones that he _loves_ you but you know down inside all he can feel is rage.

He plays his pipe late at night and it haunts you, hands clamping down on your ears, pulling furs and that ragged quilt over your head. Pan creeps beside you late into the morning and tells you about the mermaids, pixies, poisonous flowers. You tell him again and again that you already know it all, but he won't hear it. It is in his body and blood, this island, and he is too small to keep it inside.

You grow fond of the boys, begrudgingly so. You have to comb twigs out of Curly's hair too often, his dark locks twisted together. Tootles warms your relatively dead heart, Nibs was far too anxious for a twelve year old boy, and the Twins were an anomaly. Peter hated them, secretly, and you wonder why he even brought them to the island in the first place.

Rufio who is Felix who is Slightly is the worst, his hooded face looming over you at every turn. Always so quick to agree with his father, he is, and there are days where you could box his ears.

The mark on his face is relatively new, the scabs still healing and leaving a red strip across his features. He took Hook's sword for Pan. He was stupid and bold. You hate him, quietly.

Pan who is Malcolm who is _Satan_ always keeps a tight hold on your wrist when he is around, as if you will float away. You're forbidden to speak to Tink because Pan knows you'll steal her dust and fly away. You hate him. He tries to embrace you at night beneath all your furs and you slap his grubby hands away, thin arms becoming cages.

You pet faeries during your weekly escapades, hoping they'll shake some dust onto your arms and give you wings. They only leave small bites in the heel of your palm, blood leaking onto the ancient trees. That's how he always finds you, his feral insides smelling you from the depths of the ocean. One day you promise yourself that you'll go to the Place of Shadows and let them devour you.

It would be better to be torn apart by them than him.

* * *

Eventually more boys come; James, Pockets, Too Small, Prentiss, Latchboy. Some are so young, six year olds carting teddy bears around and jumping wildly around the fire without abandon.

The older ones are cautious of you at first, a _girl_ among The Lost Boys. Peter assures them that you are Mother, you are there to love them. And eventually you do, but you will _never_ love Pan.

Peter. Malcolm. Whoever he is, you do not love him. No matter how desperately he begs you to.

You hug the boys to your hard chest and smooth their hair when Father gets angry and throws arrows laced with hot magic. You have taken many hits for them, the latest in your shoulder. It still stings and Peter likes to press a hard finger against it. You flinch, because you are human, but your face remains blank. He leans in to tug on your braid, giggling with murder in his eyes.

You crawl into your small cave and hope the candles burn you alive.

* * *

You don't know how many centuries have passed when the sailors come to the island. Pan hides you away for the first time, seals you in your tree stump and you spend three days suffocating from the heat of the earth. You wonder too much about the boys, wonder if Peter has fed them even once. You hope, wickedly, that Felix died last.

When your earthen tomb is excavated, there is not a devil outside, but a pale face with dark hair and bright eyes. You are almost frightened, but he is unarmed and friendly, for the most part.

You pull yourself out of the stump and tilt your head back to the sun, which you have missed so much in the eternity of your captivity. Pan would call you melodramatic, but you hardly care what he thinks of you. Time goes fast in Neverland.

The man, boy, lifts you off the dirt and holds one elbow as you gain footing.

"Where's Peter? What happened to the boys?" You gasp out, sucking sweet faerie dust air into your lungs.

"Boys? That's what you call those demons?" The sailor scoffs and steps away stiffly. "Who are _you_?"

"Pan calls me the Wendy Bird." You sweep your gaze across the deserted camp, looking for any sign of your lost boys.

"Wendy it is." He clears his throat and ponders on his words for a long moment. "Pan is dead. My brother killed that _demon_ before the poison...The _boy_ is gone."

You don't understand the weight of what he is telling you, this boy who can't be more than three years your senior, playing dress up in a sailor's clothes.

You have tried to kill Peter every day that you knew him and this boy waltzes onto your island and does the job for you. You want to be grateful, you want to be jealous, you want to run, run, _run._ Take your boys out on the rowboats and paddle your way home.

"He's in the middle of the sea, miss, with Davy Jones."

"Where are The Lost Boys?" You grit out, not caring about Pan.

"They all fled into the jungle after Pan fell, I didn't follow," he threw up his arms. "Why do you care so much about them? They're savage."

You step closer to him, sizing him up despite being inches shorter. You know you startle him when confusion flashes across blue eyes.

" _They_ are _mine_ ," you snap. "And you will help me find them or I'll kill you."

"I'm a soldier; you're a girl. What do you think's going to happen, _love_?" The _soldier_ raised both brows and leaned forward, stupid grin too close.

The comment earns him a punch and as he lays sprawled in the dirt you pull out your knife and carve a message into a tree trunk. _Go see Tinkerbell. I'll find you. Mother_. You breathe your own small magic onto the bark and hope that it will keep your words safe.

Grabbing your pack and a few supplies from below, you climb back out into the world and make for the treeline, leaving the boy on the ground. You almost regret hurting him, but you think of your boys in the hands of Felix and it freezes your veins. You kiss a faerie on its small cheek as you whisper your message for Tinkerbell and begin your trek.

Soon the forest rustles violently around you and the boy is back, chasing after you. He almost runs straight into you but catches himself, breath wheezing.

"Let me help you, Wendy," he pants.

* * *

It takes three back and forth weeks, traveling between Tink's tree house and the camp, keeping track of what little boys you have left.

The boy, Killian, stays with Tink while you lead your boys through the thick, dangerous forest. You reluctantly leave those at camp in Felix's charge and your heart thuds loudly when you think of him, so like Pan.

You give up after a month and accept that all you have left is Tootles, James, Pockets, Felix, and one Twin. Twin Two was drowned by a mermaid because of Killian and you watch it eat away at him. He leaves his place in Tink's bed for the hard dirt next to Peter's silent firepit. You have already burned all the pipes and weapons, have forbidden Felix to carve more.

The boys are wary of Killian at first but after James calls him Father and falls asleep in his arms, they all start to love him. For once, their Father almost loves them back.

The Shadow visits him and will only call him Peter Pan and you, Wendy Darling. It will never be your name but this new Pan, _Killian_ , only refers to you as such. The Shadow gives him its magic and a dark part of you thinks it should have been you.

Killian who is Peter who is a Traitor quickly masters the magic of his predecessor and flies circles around you, smiling wide for the first time in three months. Or years, you can never tell. He zooms off into the night, to no doubt fly among the stars and start stealing boys, like the Shadow would have told him to.

He roots around your tree stump home when the boys have gone to sleep, far too nosy and intrusive. Opens your drawers and pulls things out to see them clearly. His hands trace against all your furs, given to you by the last Peter long ago. They are still soft, despite rough use.

When Pan finds his way to the trunk at the end of your sleeping area, he opens it and you still his hands, forbidding him access to your quilt. It started to tear and you put it away for safekeeping decades back. He doesn't get to touch it, you decide.

"No," you demand simply. He shrugs and climbs into bed, patting the space next to him.

Gone so quickly is the kind sailor, replaced by the spirit of the island. You see the same rage in him, sparked by his brother's death. He hates himself for Liam's death and yet still plays dress up as the _thing_ that killed him.

* * *

"Darling, look who I've brought home!" Pan calls into the main house, where you stir a stew. He's brought another to the island; you can feel the earth singing. The faeries have no doubt gathered to see the new boy, fresh with the star's light.

You come out eventually to find all the boys crowded around a small creature, no older than four, in blue pajamas. He's got a large book in his arms, a protective shield from all the eyes on him. You wade through the lost boys and go to the little one, smiling your smile that only the boys deserve. His chocolate eyes are glowing with faerie dust, the small creatures dancing around his head.

"Hello," you greet. "My name is Wendy."

"This is your new Mother, my boy," Pan sings, scooping the child up by his underarms, arms waving the frightened thing through the sky. You eventually clear your throat so that Peter will stop antagonizing him. He lets up and sets him back on the ground, kissing your cheek briefly. You wrinkle your nose at him and all the boys groan.

This Peter is far too affectionate for your liking.

"Mother! Our brother's name is Henry and he's brought bedtime stories with him!" Pockets tugs on your arm excitedly and you grin.

"That sounds delightful. You all go in and eat supper with your father while I settle our new lost boy in." They all scampered over each other in order to crawl through to the main house, Pan behind them. He winks at you before disappearing inside, the ruckus dampening slightly. Sparing a glance back at the small boy, you kneel and hold out a hand. "Hi, Henry."

"Hi, Wendy," he responds politely, quietly. He still holds onto his book and you beckon him forward.

"Shall we go and get you some warm clothes and some hot tea?"

Henry nods shyly and you can't help but beam at the small boy, precious and sparkling.

He is the youngest you have seen on the island and you want to coddle him. Bypassing the mess hall, you carry him up to the tree house, where the beds faced the stars. You ease the book from his clenched fingers and soothe him, setting him by the magical hearth. There are many open beds after Malcolm's death and you put him in the one closest to the warmth.

"I'll come back with some supper and then you can go back to sleep." Henry smiled at you and pressed his small form into your arms, wrapping his chubby toddler arms around your middle. You remember some foster siblings that couldn't sleep because of the nightmares they suffered, memories of their abusers still scarred onto their face. Henry's spirit feels light and the island still sings, happy with this new Lost Boy.

* * *

Usually Pan takes his brood out into the jungle to hunt and roughhouse, but Henry scarcely joins them, stuck to your side daily. He stays small but his soul ages and you can see an older boy in his chocolate eyes. You are too fond of him and hold him to you when Felix comes close. He is the only one who remembers the last Pan, and still carries that fire.

Killian who is Pan who is _Annoying_ with his incessant flirting, always leaves a hand on the small of your back in the main house, winking his way into your tree trunk bed. You never say no because he is a warm body, and you are so used to the shape of him that any night he is with Tink you go without sleep. It leaves you grumpy, makes you ignore Tink when she comes and kisses your shoulders.

Pan loves you, Tink loves you, and you don't give a shit about the two of them. Maybe under all your pain, scars, and memories, you love them back, but you are too good at evading their offers. It's easier to say no to them than say yes, and you think that's why you're still here. Maybe Pan will dump you back on Earth when he breaks you.

A small part of you knows that isn't true, though. There was a Malcolm inside of the last Pan and there is a Killian in this one. They may be the same person at the end of the day, but Killian's soul is still there, softening the Pan in him.

You've stopped trying to escape, eyes no longer captivated by Tink's dead dust and no pleas to Peter to take you home.

It's because of Henry and the others, you try to convince yourself.

For Henry, who reads his stories to the boys every night at the fire and leads them all in songs. He brings such light that the faeries envy him.

Your heart breaks when the sea spits out a fiery woman who claims to be his mother.

She finds you scouring the jungle for berries that Pocket's loves. You were to make him a cake to celebrate his archery advancement; Pan was proud of the boy and demanded one out of you. There are hot balls in her hands immediately and you can't help but be slightly afraid-not even Old Pan ever threatened you like this.

"Who are you? Where's my son?" She demanded of you.

"I live on the island. My name's Wendy," you answer truthfully. She didn't look like any pirate you'd ever seen and Pan had never mentioned a woman in Hook's crew.

"That _cannot_ be your name," she rolls her eyes, fire filled palms extinguishing.

"I don't remember what it used to be." You wrote it down somewhere, in a cave, over and over again, but it's no longer under your tongue.

Your braid has reached the earth by now and today it's wrapped around your head, plaits looping into a halo. Some curly tendrils hang out and you can feel sweat dripping off them. The scary woman looks at you hard for a couple minutes, lips pursed. You don't want her to take Henry from you.

So you take her to a hidden place until nightfall, when Peter will either wait for you in your bed or go fuck Tink. When there's no sound in camp, you sneak into the tree house and lift Henry into your arms. Felix almost wakes up and you know you're done for, but his scarred face drops back into his pillow moments later.

You carry him back to his mother, still asleep, and kiss his small cheeks before handing him over. She eyes you darkly but says nothing, taking her child and dropping a bean. You watch your Lost Boy disappear and sob into your fists.

Pan hears you, of course he does, and already knows what you have done.

His Shadow tells him everything, and it shouldn't surprise you that the damn thing followed you around. You see him devastatingly angry for the first time that night, as he lights the jungle on fire. Blue flames lick at your leathers and you are sure the faeries will not save you.

You can hear Felix laughing behind the flames and you have to hold in your screams because if you don't the damn _bastard_ Lost Boy wins.

Eventually the fire stops because Pan only ever teaches _lessons_ ; he doesn't kill. Not this one.

He tries to hold you later as you're applying salves to your burns, and you contemplate sinking a knife into his throat. Make the Shadow turn you into Pan. You'd take all the boys home and leave Tink to rot by herself. The mermaids could eat her for all you cared.

But you let him wrap arms around you because you're just so fucking tired. Of boy kings, of Lost Boys, and of Neverland. Shadows and faeries. Mermaids. It's too much for your old bones to hold up.

* * *

Pan brings a boy he regrets.

Bae is as old as Felix, older than you, and the somber one of the pack. He knows no smiles, just the lines in his face that no boy should have. He lets you call him Neal and refuses to call you Mother, spitting in Pan's face.

You watch Pan crumble because of Bae and he is the first Lost Boy to be banished from the camp. You hide him away in a secret cave and visit him on lonely nights. He shows you his candlelight stars and all of the drawings. He etches your lips into the stone and puts a number next to it, the amount of days he's been on the island.

You don't know how he can remember all that, because you've been here possibly eons. You remember reading about Rapunzel in your social worker's office, and you mirror her, blonde hair trailing. Pan desperately wants you to cut it, tugging sharply at it when he sleeps next to you.

He stops sleeping at Tink's and you don't know if it's a coping mechanism for losing Bae or his way of marking you as his. You assume he knows about your trips to the cave, about the kisses your boy leaves on the swell of your hip.

You draw Henry on the wall of his cave and ask faeries to go kiss him daily.

Pan starts kissing you now, too, and you don't stop him because his kisses are rough and make you feel less like a girl stuck in a time loop and more like a woman. He likes to peck the scars he has made and you think that maybe it's an apology. It's not enough, but you have two boys kissing you and you're too old to care about what trouble that will bring.

* * *

There is a day you will never forget.

It starts with Pan dipping his toes in the ocean and swimming out to the Jolly Roger for Hook's rum, and it ended with a lost hand and a new captain.

Tink tells you when the crew captures Pan, faerie messengers swarming. He's been reckless since Bae's father came for a rescue mission and you had to say goodbye to the one thing that really loved you on the island. Maybe you'll forget him in eight decades. Maybe not. You don't know.

But your Pan is now Hook, and you are still Wendy, Darling. You used to have a name, you think. Must have.

And you, Wendy, Darling, summon the Shadow before another boy comes along to take Killian's place. Felix died years ago and thankfully cannot claim Malcolm's old title. When the shadow stitches itself to your heels you don't regret poisoning that lost boy's stew.

You, Wendy Darling ( _Emma_ ), are Pan, and Killian is Hook.

He spends less time with Tink, who is on your trail more than ever now that you are Pan. The Lost Boys still call you Mother and you deal with their questions about Hook with a heavy heart. Your bed is empty at night, furs too cold without Hook's body. Tink sometimes crawls in next to you and siphons your warmth. You are too tired to send her away.

He terrorizes you daily, stealing Lost Boys here and there, making them bait so that you'll come and he can antagonize you further. It always ends with your boys swimming home and Hook pressing you up against the mast for a kiss. _He_ is still a boy inside and likes pulling your pigtails more than old foster siblings. He likes to loop his hook around your blonde tendrils and you think that maybe it's time to cut the endless locks.

You play cat and mouse, luring him into your jungle and letting him follow you down into the tree stump. He traces your ribcage in his cabin bed, moonlight reflecting off mermaid scales. You love him so fucking dearly and yet he is the largest nuisance. An enemy, according to the Shadow. It doesn't like how much you fraternize with Hook. Neither does Tink or the boys, for that matter.

* * *

He steals your quilt and you call it an act of war, its chest thrown open to an empty cavity where your patchwork blanket used to collect dust.

He's taken it. He wants to play a game, but it is the last thing left of you besides your hair and you will not let him tear that apart, too. You wonder what chaos would ensue if he knew your oldest name.

He'd taunt you, Wendy Bird who is Emma who isn't really Wendy, Darling. Not Mother, gods no. Just little orphan Emma with a cut open chest and long blonde hair trailing in the dirt.

A mermaid tries to lure you with song on your flight and she is beautiful enough that you consider drowning, but in Neverland you are immortal and on top of _that_ , Pan. You are more powerful than the sea itself and it's goddamn annoying that you can't just succumb to beautiful lips and never wake up.

"Do you think Liam would be proud of you, _now_?" You ask while he has you pinned against the helm, both swords hovering above your throat. You don't know why you love him these days.

"You didn't _know_ my brother, _Pan_ ," he hisses, pressing the swords forward until they slice a painful set of parallel lines in your neck.

You bite down on the fat of your lip as pain rips through you, Hook's eyes widening as blood pebbles down your neck.

"You were Pan once, too," you whisper, the fire he stoked inside you gone. "Killian Jones."

"That's not my _name_ anymore, Peter," he hisses, eyes looking anywhere but yours. You want to know what it would be like to go home with him, beyond the stars. To sleep next to him in a plush bed, Tink's voice muffled against your chest. Your boys could find families and no longer haunt you.

Killian has tied the quilt to the mast and as it flaps thunder, you imagine taking it down and wrapping it around your frail body. You don't want to catch a cold flying through the stars.

"It could be." You watch his head shake, the pirate pulling the blades back and stepping away. "Killian, I could fly us home. Let's take the boys and go."

"I am _Hook_ ," he spits. "I have a duty to my brother: to avenge him and rip this island apart."

"And I'm Wendy; I'm Pan. But I'm also Emma." You wipe the blood from your neck and go to him.

"No," he whispers, eyes closed.

"I'm Emma."

" _No_ ," Hook cries, hands dropping his weapons and pressing against his ears.

* * *

When the black of night covers the island, you slip out of Hook's bed and fly back to camp with your quilt soaking up tears.

You rouse the handful of boys that have survived and tug caps over their hair, wrapping shoulders in crocheted blankets. They are all bleary eyed but seem to understand what you are doing, all holding each others' hands as they exit the treehouse.

The night is clear despite the unending darkness, and you can see the stars perfectly.

Boys grab onto you, palms clenched around grubby fingers. You squeeze their hands once before lifting off. You fly above the cloud layer and it takes every part of you not to look down while passing over Hook's ship. In the distance, Tink's voice echoes against the trees.

The Shadow does not follow you, but you can hear it flying around the island as you race away. Pockets cries against your shoulder, curled around you. Tootles shudders from the cold wind but smiles at you, eyes bleary. James, the oldest boy left, begins to whistle. It's a tune that Malcolm used to play them when the fire was dying and it was time for bed.

You join in the whistle and quickly the other two boys sing softly along. Their hands do not shake quite as much as you fly them past the stars, colours and dust twirling around you.


End file.
